


Mr. Spock and the Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day

by Cheree_Cargill



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Accidents, Broken Bones, Gen, Humor, Slips, trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: Spock can't seem to catch a break today, either on shore parties, in the mess hall, in sickbay or the bridge.  He should have just stayed in bed!
Relationships: Christine Chapel/Spock
Comments: 18
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 2019 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated PG. Printed in the fanzine "Let Me Help", edited by Doctor Beth.

The day began as every other day on the _Enterprise_. Spock's internal clock woke him exactly one minute before the computer sounded a chime in his quarters and announced, "The time is 0600. It is time to wake up. The time is 0600."

"Computer, acknowledged," he replied, shaking off the sleep and sitting up on the side of his bed. He took another moment to clear his mind and ran his hand over his face and through his hair, determining that he needed a shower and a shave. Calculating his water rations, he determined that he had enough built up credits to afford a water shower this morning if he was quick about it. Normally, he used the sonics but this time he felt a bit grubby following an active day yesterday.

"Computer, begin water shower, temperature 40 degrees."

"Affirmative" and the water came on in his shower stall. Spock stripped off his t-shirt and briefs, tossed them into the laundry chute and stepped into the warm water. It took him precisely five point 63 minutes to wash his hair, scrub down his body with bath gel, and smear depilatory on his lower face. Then he ordered the water off, allowed the air dryer function to blow away the water on his body, and stepped out, pulling a clean towel off the rack.

He dragged the towel over his head and rubbed it over his still wet hair, scrubbing to dry the dripping locks, and then to remove the shave gel from his face. His head still covered by the towel, he stepped blindly out of the bathroom to fetch clean undergarments from his wardrobe – and immediately smashed his right little toe against the door frame!

He did not quite manage to suppress a cry of pain, then dropped the towel on the floor and bent to grab his foot, hopping around on his left foot as he attempted to ascertain the damage. Making it to his bed, he sat down hard and looked over his wounded toe. The nail was broken and the toe was turning a bright shade of green.

Spock muttered an expletive he'd learned from Jim, fetched a nail clipper from his bedside table, and trimmed the broken nail down to the lowest level he could. It would continue to hurt, but at least the hangnail wouldn't catch in his boot stocking. Still muttering to himself, he got himself dressed, made sure all the facial hair was gone as a result of the depilatory, then combed and set his hair into his usual neat style.

The computer's soft female voice announced, "Personnel evaluation meeting at 0800 in Conference Room B5. Repeat--"

"Acknowledged," he said absently.

Immediately, the intercom sounded and Captain Kirk's voice spoke up. "Morning, Spock. Want to get a bite of breakfast before the meeting? I want to discuss some things before we head in there."

"Thank you, Captain. I shall meet you in the mess hall shortly."

"Great" and the intercom clicked off.

Spock sighed and left his quarters, his right boot rubbing a bit on his sore toe.

* * *

Breakfast had gone well, he and the captain sitting together at an out-of-the-way table and going over the profiles of various crewmembers due to be evaluated this morning. Jim was on his third cup of coffee when they finished up. "What time is it, Spock?" he asked.

"0753," the Vulcan answered, not needing to consult a chronometer.

"We'd better get ready to go then." Kirk stood and started gathering his breakfast dishes to take to the recycler.

"I shall get them, sir," said Spock, also rising. "I will join you before the meeting time."

"Good. Thanks." Kirk left the mess hall and Spock piled their dishes on a tray, then turned, the loaded tray in his hands.

_CRASH!_

Dishes and trays went flying as Ensign Chekov collided with him. Within seconds, both men were covered with leftover coffee, scrambled eggs, pancake syrup, and half-eaten hash browns. Spock looked with dismay at the mess covering his formerly clean uniform while Chekov and a couple of other crewmembers scrambled at his feet to clean up debris and the navigator babbled his apologies, half in Russian and half in Standard.

Spock's internal clock ticked off another minute and he realized he would have to quickly return to his cabin and change. "Get this cleaned up, Mr. Chekov. And be more careful next time!"

"Yes, sair! I'm sorry, sair!"

The First Officer spun on his heel, an action that further rubbed his injured toe, and marched out, walking at an elevated pace to change and get to the meeting on time.

* * *

Things on the bridge were routine when Spock and Kirk returned from their meeting and took their stations at 0940. Chekov was at his station, having changed to a clean uniform himself, and rigidly kept his eyes on the navigation panel. He didn't dare look at Spock.

Kirk settled into his seat and then paused and sniffed. "Do I smell maple syrup?"

Chekov turned his own chair around and answered guiltily. "Yes, sair. I dropped my tray in the mess hall. I didn't have time to shower before I changed and get to my station here, sair."

"In fact, Mr. Chekov and I had an accident and I ordered him to clean up the mess and take care of it," Spock offered. He hadn't showered again himself due to lack of time, but Chekov had taken the brunt of the damage.

"Hmm, I see," murmured Kirk. "Well, I think it's quiet enough for you to go clean yourself up properly, Mr. Chekov."

"Aye, sair!" The young Russian leapt from his chair and rushed to the turbolift while Farrell took his place, leaving the engineering station unmanned.

Spock turned back to his science station, then noticed a yellow light blinking on the board. "Picking up readings from the planet we are approaching, Captain," he said, his hands flying over the board. "I am reading heavy traces of dilithium there."

"That's surprising!" the Captain replied. "Let's check this out, Mr. Spock. Mr. Sulu, put us into orbit over the reading. Spock, call a couple of the geologists to join us and let's beam down." He rose from his chair. "McCoy might like to get a breath of fresh air, too. Have them meet us in the transporter room in ten minutes."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

Kyle was manning the transporter console, his usual post, when the five men filed into the transporter room and took their places on the platform.

"We're just going to take a little survey," Kirk informed the operator. "Set us down on that hill that Mr. Spock has pinpointed for you."

"Yes, sir." Kyle set in the coordinates and slid his fingers over the controls at Kirk's nod.

Transport took only a second, and as soon as they had materialized, Spock and the geologists unslung their tricorders and fanned out, scanning the minerals in the area for dilithium. Kirk and McCoy moved off to enjoy the scenery as Spock started down the slope of the hill, his eyes on the small screen of his transporter.

"Readings in this direc--" he began when he suddenly realized that the place he was about to set his right foot wasn't there and the next instant he found himself rolling and tumbling down the hill, slamming against rocks and small bushes, unable to stop his momentum.

It took about five seconds before he suddenly collided with a wall of rock and felt his right ankle snap at the impact.

It took about another minute before Kirk and McCoy arrived at his location, their descent kicking loose a shower of pebbles and dust that coated him and started him coughing harshly. Before he even caught his breath, McCoy was on his knees beside him, running his medical scanner over the Vulcan. "Your ankle's broken," the doctor announced. "Where else are you hurt, Spock?"

The science officer waved away the dust and coughed once more. "I am not hurt, Dr. McCoy. Simply bruised. My ankle is merely sprained."

"Don't tell me how to diagnose injuries, you pointy-eared hobgoblin!" McCoy snapped. "That ankle is shattered! Jim, help me get him up."

The two men got Spock upright, shoulders under each arm, which set off a groan that Spock could not prevent. Gingerly, the Vulcan tried to put weight on his right foot, cried out and nearly collapsed.

"Now, don't tell your ol' grandpappy how to fry fish!" McCoy growled, and got a puzzled, alarmed look from both other men.

"Fry fish?" questioned Spock.

"Never mind!" The doctor whipped out his communication and flipped it open. "McCoy to _Enterprise_. Medical emergency. Beam Mr. Spock and me straight to sick bay!"

"Aye, sir," came Kyle's reply and the two dissolved in the transporter beam.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, my God!" cried Christine Chapel as Spock hopped toward one of the diagnostic beds, leaning on McCoy's shoulder. "What happened?!"

In answer, McCoy ordered, "Get the bone knitter and prepare to set his ankle."

Chapel scurried away as Thomas, one of the male nurses, assisted McCoy in hoisting Spock onto the bed. "Okay, we're going to have to cut his boot off. Get me the snippers."

"That is completely unnecessary, Dr. McCoy!" the Vulcan protested. "These are a new pair of boots! I do not want them ruined!"

"Fine. I'll just pull this one off." He proceeded to give the boot a little tug, which immediately nearly lifted Spock off the table as agonizing pain flared through the broken bone. "You want your foot to come off with it?" McCoy snarled. "Now, shut up and let me get this boot cut off you!"

Spock didn't argue with him again. He was too busy panting and concentrating on controlling the pain radiating through his right leg.

Christine had returned with the bone knitter and stood by as McCoy and Thomas made short work of slitting Spock's boot open and gently drawing it off his leg. His right ankle was dark green and swelling visibly. "Let me see an image of that," McCoy ordered and Thomas directed the scanner at Spock's foot as Christine removed Spock's boot stocking and left his foot bare.

As Thomas directed the scanner at the Vulcan's ankle, Chapel bent over and asked, "What did you do to your pinky toe?" The digit was swollen and an angry green as well.

As she reached down to manipulate it, Spock jerked and snapped, "DON'T … don't touch it."

"Did you injure that in the fall?" McCoy questioned, now bending over Spock's foot. "Is it that painful?"

"I hit my toe this morning in my cabin," the first officer answered, his teeth gritted. "It is not painful. Nurse Chapel's emotional response found me unprepared when she touched me."

Captain Kirk chose this moment to come sailing into sick bay. "How is he, Bones?"

"Broken ankle, jammed toe. He'll be fine once we get him knitted back together. Stay out of the way."

Kirk obliged and stood back, watching. Quickly and efficiently, McCoy ran the bone knitter over Spock's swollen ankle, setting the fractured pieces into place and sealing them. Chapel stood by to give him an anti-inflammatory and antibiotic.

"Thank you, Dr. McCoy," the Vulcan said before the doctor was done and attempted to rise. "That is sufficient."

"Get your butt back on that bed," McCoy snapped. "I'm not done yet! Thomas, get a walking cast on his ankle."

"That is unnecessary," Spock protested.

"You step on that foot right now and it's going to snap again! So, shut up and lay down!"

Spock heard Kirk chuckle softly, but did as he was told, practically fidgeting. To divert himself from further indignities, he queried, "What about the survey, Captain?"

"I left Kingsley and Grafton down there to complete the readings," Kirk answered. "Looks like a good source. We'll mark it and send the scan on to Starfleet for follow-up."

"Good." Chapel was hovering over the first officer's leg, smoothing down the bindings with an air of outright sympathy. "Nurse! I have asked that you not touch me!" the Vulcan ground out. "Your emotional overload is distinctly unpleasant to me!"

She leapt back, looking offended. "I'm sorry, Mr. Spock! I'm just doing my job!"

"Spock, do I need to give you a tranquilizer, too?" McCoy broke in. "Get that burr out from under your saddle and leave my staff alone! You're fine. Get out of my sick bay and go occupy yourself with something! That cast needs to stay on for 24 hours and I'll check it again tomorrow."

Kirk took his grumpy officer in tow and led him out of sick bay. "You're pretty dirty, Spock, from that fall down the hill. Want to stop by your cabin and change?"

"Thank you, Captain. I shall meet you on the bridge shortly." And Spock limped off down the corridor towards his quarters.

* * *

Back on the bridge at last after a quick sonic shower and another change of uniform – he noted he only had three clean outfits left in his closet – Spock settled into his station and turned to catching up on a backlog of waiting reports. Things were quiet for an hour, then something hummed and sparked beneath the panel of the science station. Smoke billowed and sparks spat and a small explosion erupted, throwing Spock away from the dials and buttons.

" _Pakh!_ " he said reflexively, a rather strong Vulcan expletive.

Kirk whipped his chair around and leapt to his feet. "Spock! What happened? Are you all right?"

"Slightly singed, but unhurt," the first officer replied, waiving away smoke. "The board appears to have shorted out." He quickly cut the power and dropped down to the deck, pulling away the paneling and peering into the circuits underneath. "Mr. Farrell, please assist me," he said, summoning the assistant engineer.

Within a few minutes, the two men had their upper bodies inserted into the electronics and were pulling and cross-wiring the burned circuitry. They worked for nearly an hour, then got things reconnected, circuit boards replaced, and the trouble found. It was a piece of lint from Spock's walking cast that had gotten sucked through the grid and wrapped around the connection of two critical boards. The Vulcan was tempted to rid himself of the annoyance but, as his ankle was itching and twinging and still regrowing, he forced himself to let well enough alone.

The console working once more, Spock thanked Farrell, who returned to his own station, and very nearly collapsed with a tired sigh. The mass of unread reports had doubled and he turned to diligently catching up on the backlog. It was late into first shift and he was just getting started when the intercom on his console whistled.

"Spock here," he answered.

It was McCoy. "Mr. Spock, I'd like for you to come down to sick bay so I can check that ankle."

"Doctor, I am quite busy. Can it not wait until later?"

"Nope. I know you. I suspect that you haven't been staying off it and I want to make sure the bone is knitting properly."

Spock noticed that Kirk was watching him over his shoulder. The captain was smirking a little and nodded toward the turbolift. "Go on and get it done. He won't leave you alone until you do."

"Very well," Spock grumpily answered both men. "I shall be there within five minutes. Then perhaps you will allow me to work!"

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

"Thomas!" snapped Dr. McCoy, standing with hands on hips and glaring at the little pool of liquid that the male nurse had slopped from the coffee cup he was carrying back to his station past the doorway. "Are you trying to kill somebody?! Get a rag and clean that up right now!"

"Yes, sir! I'm sorry, sir!" the younger man answered and hurried to grab a cloth.

At that same instant, the doors hissed open and Spock marched in – and the next second found himself in the air as his boot heel encountered the spilled coffee and went out from under him. He landed flat of his back, his head hitting the floor and the air leaving his lungs.

For a few seconds, the Vulcan contemplated the stars whirling before his eyes and his lungs attempting to draw in air. Then he became aware of people gathered around him, frantically trying to get him up. Their chaotic emotions smothered him and by the time he had sorted the people out into McCoy, Thomas and Nurse Chapel, he had a raging headache and was sitting up, his hands pressed against his temples.

"I am all right!" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"I'll be the judge of that!" answered McCoy. "Where are you injured?"

"I am not injured!" Spock replied testily. "Please leave me alone!"

"Let's get him up and on the diagnostic table," responded the doctor and he and Thomas slid their hands underneath Spock's arms and lifted him to his feet and then onto the bed.

"I do not need your assistance!" the first officer insisted tightly.

"Chapel, hand me the scanner." She did so immediately and McCoy swirled the instrument around Spock's head, ignoring the Vulcan's continued protests. "No concussion but you're going to have a lump on the back of your head. Bruises on your back and hips. Ankle is okay, however. At least we're not going to have to start over on that! Chapel, get him a painkiller and muscle relaxant." As she scurried away to retrieve the meds, McCoy turned back to Thomas. "And get that goddamned mess cleaned up before I put you on report!"

Christine was back and injected the ordered medications into Spock's neck before he could protest farther. As she did so, he was overwhelmed with the emotions she was projecting and he waved her away. "That is sufficient, Nurse! You are only making my headache worse!"

Offended, the head nurse stepped back. "I'm sorry, Mr. Spock! I'm only following Dr. McCoy's instructions!"

"It is your emotions to which I am referring! Please try to control yourself!"

"Spock, leave her alone!" ordered McCoy angrily. "You're the one that's causing all the ruckus. You control _yourself!_ Now, shall I add a sedative to my prescriptions as well?"

Spock took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. "That will not be necessary, Dr. McCoy," he replied calmly. "I feel much better. May I please go back to the bridge and resume my work? I feel safer there than in your chamber of horrors."

"Get out of here then," the chief surgeon answered. "But do what I said about staying off that ankle. I want you back in here at 0800 tomorrow and, if you're a good boy, I'll take that cast off."

Spock made a sound that was suspiciously close to a snort, swung his legs off the table and walked with dignity, and a slight limp, out of sickbay.

* * *

The rest of the shift passed quietly and at last Spock was able to return to his cabin where he merely wanted to meditate and go to bed. Even there, he was not safe from interruptions. Kirk dropped in to see if he wanted to get supper and have a game of chess, both invitations of which Spock turned down.

Again, he attempted to settle down and meditate, but midway through his second attempt, the intercom whistled. It was McCoy. "I checked your food account and see that you haven't eaten," the doctor said accusingly. "I'm sending Christine up with a tray of food. Eat!"

"I am not hungry--" Spock began but McCoy had already signed off.

Five minutes later, the buzzer at his door sounded. "Come," he sighed and Chapel bustled in bearing the announced tray of soup, bread and veggies.

"Dr. McCoy asked me to bring you some supper," she said brightly.

"Ordered is more likely," the Vulcan replied grumpily. "Very well, leave it on my desk. I shall eat it shortly."

"Dr. McCoy also said I was to stay until you finished it," Chapel answered. "You have his medical prescription. Eat!"

"Nurse Chapel, how old do I appear to you?" Spock demanded.

"You're 38," she answered. "How old do I appear to _you?_ ' she answered back.

"I am not playing guessing games! I am fully capable of feeding myself when I require nourishment!"

"But apparently not capable of following doctor's orders," she shot back, folding her arms across her chest. "Now, unless you plan on calling security and having me hauled away, you will sit and eat the food Dr. McCoy ordered for you."

"Very well," Spock sighed and seated himself at his desk, taking up the spoon and dipping it into the steaming soup. Thankfully, it was potato and not plomeek. He didn't think he could face any more of that.

Spock stuck the spoon full of soup into his mouth and immediately yelped and spat it out. It was boiling hot!

Christine instantly rushed to his side. "Oh my God! I'm sorry, Mr. Spock! I didn't check the temperature before I brought it down! Are you all right?"

"My tongue and the roof of my mouth are scorched! Get me some cold water!" he almost shouted. She did and promptly spilled it on him in her rush to soothe his burns. He grabbed the glass and gulped it anyway, holding the icy water in his mouth until the burns felt better.

"Let me call the doctor!" she said, flustered.

"No! Please, Christine, I am all right," he answered, using her name without thinking. "Please, just take the tray and go. I simply want to meditate and go to bed. I am quite fatigued by the day's happenings."

Chapel smiled a little sadly. "You _have_ had a pretty rough day, haven't you? Okay, I'll tell Dr. McCoy that I evaluated your condition and determined that rest was the best thing for you."

"Thank you." The Vulcan came near to a smile himself but simply watched as the blonde nurse picked up the food tray and retreated from his cabin.

Moving to sit on the side of his bed, for a few minutes, Spock attempted once again to reach a state of relaxation so that he could begin the meditation rituals. It was no use. He was too agitated and decided that playing his lyre might help soothe his jangled nerves.

Retrieving the Vulcan instrument from its place, he positioned it against his shoulder and gently ran his fingers over the multiple strings, drawing out a smooth, almost organ-like sound. Except there was a discordant note somewhere in there. Spock stroked his fingertips over the strings more slowly and again heard the off-note. One by one now, he tested each string, searching for the one that was out of tune.

 _Twang!_ Without warning, the bad string snapped and flew up, slapping him in the face and leaving a livid green cut on his left cheek.

It was too much. Spock threw the lyre on the bed beside him and buried his face in his hands. Appealing to his ancestors, he moaned, "What _else_ can go wrong today?!"

The ghostly image of Surak appeared before him and answered, "Don't ask."

And then red alert went off.

THE END


End file.
